


The Life Of A Girl Named Natasha

by Aurelius_Fire_Upon_The_Sky



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Autobiography, Death, Depression, Other, Regret, Suicide Attempt, light fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 08:19:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18634348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurelius_Fire_Upon_The_Sky/pseuds/Aurelius_Fire_Upon_The_Sky
Summary: This is my story and my struggles.





	The Life Of A Girl Named Natasha

**Author's Note:**

> Readers head my warning. This is a sad story with what feels like no happy end.

On the cool August day in Bedford, New Hampshire, a woman with bright purple hair was going about her normal day. She was heavily pregnant with her second child. Her firstborn son played in the yard, while she sat and relaxed reading a book on the patio. Her husband was preparing to go to a concert that he had gotten tickets for just the night before on his birthday. She looked up keeping her eye out for a butterfly she considered special. It was getting later and she had put her son John-Micheal down for a nap when she spotted that very special butterfly. She did her best to catch it every time it came around and this time she managed to catch it. She held it for a few seconds and then let it fly off again. It wasn't until a few hours later that it started her water broke and she was brought to the Emergency room. It wasn't until 8:30 on that fateful August night that a baby girl was born.

That is how these stories are supposed to start at least. Some of that is true and others are just what I feel that day should have been. I was born on August 8th, 2000 at 8:30 pm in Nashua my parents did live in Bedford at the time. I wouldn't call my parents or my family for that matter normal per se. I mean what is normal but, a concept that we create ourselves. I for one am nowhere near what most people would call normal. I mean look at me I am at the time this chapter is being written an 18-year-old. I love to jam out to Rock music absolutely hate and I mean hate rap music. Now we are straying from the topic at hand. My birth. Well, it was about as average as you could get with a few worries. I did not cry, I was about the quietest baby they had seen or so I have been told. My mom did catch a butterfly that day, and my dad almost missed my birth over a concert. That probably would have made for a more interesting tale of my birth. No, I was just your average baby with a not so average family.

I do wish that this story would be all happy tales of me growing up but, that's not that case. You see my mother was sick. Not your normal kind of sick. Not any of that tragic "My mother had cancer" kind of bullshit. No, my mother had quite a few mental disorders. I wish I could recount tales of her saving the day and beating up her disorders with a smile on her face. That never happened. I wish I could tell you that we had a happy life together, but that never happened either. Now I am not asking for pity or any of that shit. I mean there are plenty of people who grew up with one parent or a parent who wasn't quite there, I'm not special in that case. I just want to get this out and bring it to light. I will not ask you for your tears, only that you read this with an open mind and heart. For a girl who was born on that fateful August day. Little did anyone know was that the coming July would be the last day in a woman's life.

No one ever expected it to end the way it did. The despair that would come just three days after the 4th of July celebration of 2001.

My mother Naomi passed away. Not naturally. She committed suicide, in the bathroom of her parents' place in Nashua. She was found dead in the bathroom by her mother. An ambulance called, but would not be needed. She was dead and had been for about an hour. There was no saving her. She downed an entire bottle of her anti-depressants. My mother from what I have heard and laughed with my maternal grandparents about was a loving, kind, and funny.

I have no memories of her because she died just before I was eleven months old. I have been told by my brother that even though I am a complete ball of anxiety behind the wheel of a car that I am better than our mother ever was. It takes several tries before I can get myself to even turn the car on, then the entire ride I am shaking like a leaf near panic attack. Again we are getting sidetracked. My mother was many things. A daughter, sister, friend, and mother but, she is no longer in this world. Nor will any invention ever bring her back. It hurts me to think that but, I'm happy for her, she is at peace. Free from her sickness and from her torture. Sometimes I think that she is the lucky one, other times I think that if someone anyone had just noticed she could have been saved. Not that my brother or I could have done anything. My brother was only Five when she passed. I was eleven months. What could I have done?

I wish I could end this with a happy note, but, my story is not a happy one. Nor do I believe that there is ever a truly happy story. At least not in this world. Not it reality.

      


End file.
